Falling For Mr. Dark & Dangerous Page 10

Maggie turned her head to look up at him, a strand of hair whipping around her face and catching in her mouth. She plucked it out with a finger. He reached out tucked it back, his finger lingering by her earlobe.

  “But…”

  He dropped his hand. He doubted she could really comprehend the places he’d been or the things he’d seen. “But there’s no place like home. Other than my mom’s place, here with you, at Mountain Haven, is as close as it gets.”

  “What about your place in Florida?” The moment suspended as the wind howled around them.

  What about it? It was empty and functional and a place for him to sleep and eat. Had been for several months.

  “My house there doesn’t really feel like a home.”

  He could tell by the look in her eyes she wanted to ask more but didn’t. Instead she placed a hand on his forearm, unaware of how the simple gesture touched him.

  “Then I’m glad you’re happy here.”

  That was it. He was surprised. Any woman he knew would have asked long ago if there was a wife or girlfriend in the wings. But not Maggie. He understood now that she’d learned long ago to simply accept. He almost wanted her to ask, just so he could tell her there was no one. No one with a claim on his heart.

  Maggie turned to keep walking and he clasped her hand in his. She smiled softly, squeezing his fingers.

  “Thank you, Nate, again. For being there today. It helped. More than you know.”

  Their hands swung gently between them as they ambled along rough pavement. It hit him as being a bit surreal, walking down a country road, holding hands with a beautiful woman. “Something’s happening between us, Maggie, we both know it.”

  “I…I’m not prepared for that.”

  “I know.”

  His low words were almost lost in the power of the Chinook, but she heard them. He looked over at her, saw her swallow, look down at her feet as their steps slowed.

  “Maggie, don’t run, okay? We’ve both been dancing around it until neither of us knows how to act or what to say. So I’m just going to get it out of the way. I’m attracted to you. More than I thought possible.”

  Her mouth opened and shut a few times before she could speak. “I know. And I’ve started to trust you, Nate, and it scares me to death. I don’t have it in me to start anything. There are so many reasons not to.”

  His lip curled at the thought of trust. The one bugbear in all of this was that he knew she trusted him more with each passing day. And he knew she shouldn’t. Knew that she’d be more hurt if she knew he’d been keeping secrets all this time. He wondered again whether it would be better to just tell her.

  Then he remembered the look in her eyes today when she’d thought Jen was hurt, when she’d told him about all the loss she’d suffered. He couldn’t tell her and walk out the door each day that was left, knowing how she’d worry. She didn’t need that. She had enough to worry about. Not only that, if he told her, he’d lose any hope of finding out what it was he already suspected. That Maggie knew a hell of a lot more than she was saying.

  He felt her eyes on him and he turned his head, his face softening slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear.” He took her other hand in his, stopping their progress in the middle of the road, running his fingers over her soft knuckles.

  He leaned forward, just a little, and touched his lips to her forehead, catching a strand of her hair in his mouth as the wind whipped it around. He pulled it out with a finger.

  Their time together was growing short. He wouldn’t have to worry about seeing her every day, knowing he was keeping secrets from her. Another week was all that was left in his stay and they would probably never see each other again.

  It was crazy how empty the thought of that made him feel.

  Her hair whipped around and he reached out, threading his fingers through the long strands, pushing them back so her pale face was framed by the darker skin of his hands. It was wrong to feel this way and he knew it. But in the end the pull to her was too strong to fight.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I have to.”

  He pulled gently with his hands, drawing her closer and up, dipping his head until he touched her lips with his.

  She was sweet, so very sweet, and a little salty from her earlier tears. His eyes slammed shut and he focused on the feel of her, real and alive and responsive. Despite her earlier protests, despite all the reasons why she couldn’t, her mouth opened beneath his and he squared his feet, planting his weight, taking it as deep and as dark as she’d let him.

  The wind howled around them, warm and wild, swirling up dust. He lowered one hand, pressing it to the small of her back, pulling her closer so that their bodies were meshed as closely as their outerwear would allow. Her arms reached up, circled his neck as she adjusted the angle of her head to better fit his and his blood sang. He gripped her hair, tugging to tilt her head back and he ripped his mouth from hers, sliding his tongue up her neck.

  She whimpered, and he felt the vibration on his lips.

  He froze. God, here he was doing the very thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, not today. This was what going for a walk had been meant to avoid. Breathing heavily, he gently released her and backed away.

  “You’re stopping.” Her cheeks flamed red but she met his eyes bravely.

  “You’re too vulnerable, Maggie. We both know it.”

  “I think I’m old enough to know what I want.” She lifted her chin.

  He couldn’t stop the surge at her words. She wanted him. That was clear. Her response had told him plainly she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  Maggie held his gaze, trying to seem stronger than he knew she felt. She wasn’t the kind to take something to a physical level and be cavalier about it. He took a step backward. “But I’m not sure you’d see it the same way tomorrow, and I don’t want to take advantage. And the last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way.” He tried slow, steadying breaths. “Besides, we’re in the middle of the road.”

  Maggie looked left and right while the only sound was the Chinook and dripping water from melting snow. Then she snorted, a tiny, ladylike bubble of noise.

  “Oh goodness, we are, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah.”

  Things seemed back to normal for a few minutes. They turned back in the direction they’d come and the wind was at their backs, buffeting them along. Maggie tried tucking her hair behind her ears, but it wouldn’t stay. It blew wildly around her head.

  It was good they’d stopped when they had.

  When they reached the lane up to the house, she stopped suddenly. He looked at her, then at the house. It seemed to be waiting for them to go in.

  “So what do we do now?”

  Nate knew what he wanted to do, but it would cause more problems than it would solve. He sighed.

  “Damned if I know, Maggie. Damned if I know.”

  Maggie hummed as she folded the clothes in her basket, laying them in two piles on her bed; one for her, one for Nate. He’d offered to do his own laundry if she’d let him use her facilities, but she didn’t mind doing it for him. When she’d offered, there’d been a slightly tense moment as she’d worried he’d think she was just after billing the service.

  Truth be told, it was nice to have someone to do for. Washing his clothing was nothing at all. She’d merely made the comment that she could throw it in with her own and the awkward moment had passed.

  She smoothed her hand over a pair of his jeans, rubbing out the creases from the dryer. Her fingers lingered over the denim, picturing how the fabric molded to his frame. Not in many, many years had she felt such a need for a man, such desire. Not only that, but she’d never expected that she’d find those things that made him a cop—the haircut, the penchant for neatness, the physicality—so alluring.

  When he was gone on his ramblings during the day, she couldn’t believe how wantonly she’d behaved during their walk. In the middle of the road, of all things. But the moment his arms went around her and he kiss
ed her, she forgot everything beyond the feel and taste of him. For those few moments, she forgot the fear. When she was in his embrace, she forgot all the reasons why he was wrong for her. He made her feel young and alive and the novelty was intoxicating.

  They’d walked back to the house and she’d wondered how on earth they were going to coexist in the same house for the next several days. Wanting him to kiss her again, knowing it was inadvisable. Wanting much more from him, yet afraid to take that giant step into being intimate with a man. She didn’t take those things lightly.

  But she needn’t have worried at all. Nate had reverted to his pleasant, normal self. Full stop. No more long looks, intimate smiles, toe-curling kisses. None.

  And she missed him.

  The laundry finished, she put her own clothes away and stacked his, along with the guest towels, back in the basket to take upstairs to his room. Maybe he’d put on the brakes because she’d never given him a reason to move forward. And yes, he was only here for a short time. But he understood her. That much she knew. She’d trusted him with her past and that was a subject she rarely talked about. And he’d made the first move each time they’d kissed, touched.

  What if he was waiting for her to make a move now?

  Maggie swallowed as saliva pooled in her mouth. After seventeen years of celibacy, she was afraid. Afraid of looking silly. Afraid of the intensity. Afraid of another man seeing her body. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She’d had a child. She’d aged. And his body was youthful and perfect.

  “Maggie?”

  Nate called as he came in the door and she couldn’t stop the flood of welcome that rushed through her. When had she started truly looking forward to his return every day?

  “I’m in here.”

  She let out a slow breath. This was silly. He was only a man. This was only a crazy reaction to having him so close; to being alone together.

  She hefted the laundry basket, settling it on her hip. It wasn’t in her to make the next move. No matter how much she wanted to.

  She turned the corner into the kitchen, the basket sliding off her hip to the floor as she saw his face.

  “Have you got bandages, Maggie?”

  His voice was calm, reasonable, but all Maggie saw was blood streaming from a gash that ran down his forehead to just below his eyebrow.

  “Maggie. Bandages.”

  She sprang into action, the sight of the cut always before her eyes as she ran to the bathroom for the first-aid kit.

  When she came back, he’d pulled out a kitchen chair and sat in it. Maggie grabbed an ivory hand towel from the spilled basket and immediately pressed it to the cut, staunching the blood as it seeped darkly through the cotton. “Hold this for a minute.”

  She opened the kit and saw her fingers trembling. He was fine, it was just a cut, she reassured herself. But seeing the blood, the open gash, had sent pins and needles through her extremities. What if he had a concussion, or needed stitches?

  She looked up, gauze and scissors in her hand, and watched as Nate’s face paled and he weaved slightly.

  She dropped the items to the floor and knelt before him, pressing one hand to the towel and the other to the back of his head, pushing him forward.

  “Put your head between your knees,” she commanded, hoping to God he didn’t pass out or get sick. Either one might mean concussion.

  He obeyed, saying nothing.

  “Take slow, deep breaths, Nate.”

  She moved to the side a bit, still holding the towel to the wound and rubbing a hand over his shoulders. The movement gave her time to find her own bearings, and she realized something shocking.

  In the instant she’d seen his blood, known he was injured, her only thoughts had been for him. Not of Tom. Not of Jen. Not of fear born from years of loss and anxiety. But for him.

  It was more than lust, more than feeding a hunger. It was Nate, the man, and he inspired feelings Maggie had thought long extinct. For her, it had suddenly become much deeper and meaningful. And complicated.

  “I’m okay now.”

  His voice came through, deep and rough and she blinked back tears at the mere sound of it.

  “Sit up slowly, that’s it.” She helped guide him up until he was upright in the chair once more. Once he was stable, she put his hand on the towel and moved quickly to grab a chair so she could sit facing him.

  “I’m going to pull the towel away now,” she murmured, gently pulling the cotton from his head. She swallowed at the amount of blood staining the ivory. With light fingers, she held his forehead and examined the cut. “You should have stitches.”

  “I’ll be fine, just bandage it up.”

  “Nate, it’s huge. Even with stitches, you’ll likely have a scar. You can guarantee it if I patch you up. Not to mention it’ll take longer for it to heal.”

  “There’s steritape in my bag. I’ll get it.”

  “Tell me where it is and I’ll get it for you.”

  “No. I mean, I’m feeling much better.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You asked for my help, let me give it.”

  “The bleeding’s nearly stopped. I’ll get the tape and let you do it, all right?”

  She sat back at his sharp tone. She wasn’t sure why she’d been so worried, if he were going to be this stubborn. Men. Why was it that admitting they needed help was so difficult?

  He got up from his chair and made his way to the stairs.

  She took the towel and threw it in the trash; there was no saving it. What on earth had happened to him, and how long had he walked before getting to the house?

  “Maggie.”

  Her head snapped up. Nate’s voice was weak and thready. She rushed toward the stairs. Why hadn’t he let her go after the supplies rather than playing the tough guy?

  “Oh my stars, Nate.”

  He was halfway down the stairs, clinging to the banister and holding a small kit in his hands.

  She went up half a dozen steps and slid beneath his right arm, bolstering his weight. “You big ninny. Trying to do this yourself. From now on, you’re doing exactly what I tell you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Carefully they made their way to the bottom of the stairs and she helped him back to the chair. He sat heavily, closed his eyes while she took the kit from his hands.

  “This isn’t my forte, just so you know. You really should see a doctor.”

  “No doctors. It’s just a scratch.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I just don’t like doctors, okay? I’ve had worse wounds, trust me. I’ve been patched up by medics, by colleagues and even by a tribal leader in Africa.”

  “You are so stubborn.” Maggie held the first strip of tape. “Take a breath. Now let it out. Slowly.”

  As he exhaled, she pushed the edges of the wound together and applied the tape.

  His eyes opened, the blue-green of the sun through a bottle. They focused on her face. “Thank you for doing this.”

  She caught the tip of her tongue in her teeth as she applied the next strip.

  “I want it noted that I thought you should see a professional.”

  His gaze never wavered, and her stomach tumbled, both from the first-aid and from his intense focus.

  “You can charge for services rendered. I’ll speak up for you.”

  Her lips twitched. “So you’re not that badly injured, if you’re cracking jokes.”

  “It’s a scratch,” he repeated. “I’ve got scars much worse.”

  Her hand halted, another strip of tape stuck to her index finger. She wondered where he had scars; what they looked like. Her body heated as she imagined touching him, kissing all the places where they marked his skin.

  And just as quickly, she cooled. She couldn’t forget that the very presence of the scars were a real reminder of the life he led. And the danger he represented.

  “What happened, anyway?”

  He cleared his throat. “I was walking the creek. Do
n’t know exactly what happened, but I must have slipped in some mud. Hit my head on a rock, I guess. And got my bell rung pretty good.”

  Maggie reached for a swab, cleaned the bottom of the cut and reached for the gauze. It made sense, she supposed. The creek bank could be slick this time of year, and a stripe of dried mud ran up his leg.

  “And you walked all the way back here with your head bleeding.”

  He nodded slightly, wincing. “Yeah. Used a mitten to control the bleeding—it’s a write-off by the way—and hit for home.”

  She sat back, packing the kit again. “You’re patched up, for what it’s worth. I still think you’re probably concussed.”

  “Then you’ll have to keep an eye on me, won’t you?”

  He smiled his most charming smile, and suddenly the life went out of her legs.

  She sat heavily. She hated the sight of blood, but her immediate concern for his health had overridden it. Now that he was attended to, the aversion came back heavy and strong. The smell of blood was the smell of death. She would have taken him to the hospital out of sheer worry, but she didn’t like hospitals any more than he apparently did. Hospitals were always a reminder of what she’d lost.

  “You need tea, Maggie. Now you’re pale.”

  She nodded. “I’ll make some. I think we could both use it. I’ve got to keep my eye on you for the next while.”

  She would have moved to get up but he stayed her with a hand on her knee. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve always gone above and beyond, but today…that’s different. I owe you, Maggie.”

  She rose, his hand sliding off her leg. “It’s fine. It’s the smell of the blood, that’s all.”

  She forced herself to smile. He couldn’t know, and she didn’t want him to. For all he was aware, Tom had been killed on the job. And he had been. But it hadn’t been an accident. No indeed. Tom had been shot. And by the time she’d reached the hospital he was in a coma. He’d never regained consciousness. All she had for parting memories were the sights and smells of his blood.

  Too late she realized she was trembling. Nate lifted his hand and cupped her jaw with his fingers, steadying her. It was the most natural thing in the world to put her arms around him, try to gain strength from his.